baby birds tucked in the fig tree yelling tweeting at the top of their tiny bird lungs
little beaks automatons
of nature booming from
the hard green fig tree
as i remained faceless
from the gray black trunk
of that biblical tree
i peeped itsy bitsy baby bird
feets hanging on to knots of wood these baby birds browner than brown and oranger than orange
such a concert hall cacophony of teeny tweet tweet prayers
to open up
last night i hung out with Jimmy and Janis
and in the shower i sang about foxy Kentuckians
not sure if it meant anything at all but yet can’t help to daydream about his guitar and her vocal chords
making coffee the feeling persisted why am i still here
just feelings i guess no need to worry the squirrels are in the tree the sidewalk exists from what i can tell
i do an LOL i’ve kissed the ground so many times with my ball and chain gang of personal fools
could it be that it truly is just semantics me wonders whilst the refuse truck crawls by on Thursday morning
gold hot life
resurrection giver
to sleepy weeds soon turned to flowers
spread queenly ample ultra violet thighs across asphalt parking lot
and in betwixt the cracks of crowded city streets
there too there is growth
nurse mother Sun antiseptic in your love
disease and sorrow annihilator
You smile and wrap around my shoulders through my sagging window
and i thank you
shake well my soul on fire the water gone our words all liars cartoon Sunday morning blues grew up soon code red the rings of things evil we loved you but let’s not forget should not idolize because we’ll fall down first shake well into the eye of the pitch silent universe until the concert of the dawn is birthed with hallelujah meanwhile on Hill and First we cling to silly cardboard laws which are mathless in nature therefore null and void among the Let Us
early cool breeze by the frame she sits
quiet eloquence green windows into mystic grooves
in the presence of the Queen bow i must to pick her up
for morning supper tired she is up all night
catching gnats and only witness to falling stars
Zimmy has an old soul
if you look at his eyes
they are other worldly
the color of Earth’s face
from up in space
it means just what is
but when i heard him this morning
while drinking my mud
these words telegraphed
out from Alexa .1
“Oh my name it ain’t nothin’
My age it means less
The country I come from
Is called the Midwest
I was taught and brought up there
The laws to abide
And that land that I live in
Has God on its side”
the shame i felt
rose to waterlines of my
green lined eyes
and the liquid it spilleth over
perhaps it’s the hormones
or the brow beat quarantine
and my cat she ate the dog’s food
but i couldn’t tell her to quit
shaking it off
turning the vacuum on
the dog he shakes his
fluffy white tail
and my thoughts run asunder
white hot sun beaming
brown wood flooring
a meeting of the titans
debacled by the cat
does God pick sides
Nutella
fruit
lavash
rye bread
ramen
and a good fuck while i’m on top
chewing on ice
these things that i like
why am i this way
could it be in black vain
that i ask these strange questions
a dandelion of thoughts
cast into the humidity
answers might or might not
germinate
does God get to decide
from where do i find
recourse for sinning
early i rise
eating my heart out
doing what’s right
one moment gets wasted
my faith goes in haste
my spirit is stuck wild horses help me am i on God’s side
it’s no good
i’m dubious should i or not
i took a walk around and around
inventoried the lost opportunities
of finding myself
Billie Holiday laments
and so do i
good morning heart ache she asks
i follow in a raspy girl whisper
what’s new
had i been a raconteur
would i had made a difference
in the mind that crazy hapless ass
i trudge a long time
exhausted
questioning
and as if by sheer exhaustion
the conclusion that i have no control
is reached
